


Escapism

by wilyasha



Series: Firewall [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Dissociation, Gen, Self-Harm, Space Battles, Team as Family, Violence, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 11:04:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11735742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilyasha/pseuds/wilyasha
Summary: When Keith spots the hilt of Ulaz's blade, it's all he can think about. He can't focus on anything but that glowing emblem. But with the pressure of a robeast outside the cluster, the itching sensation in his throat, and the feeling of Ulaz's eyes following him around the Castle, Keith knows Zarkon's hunting him and no one else.





	Escapism

**Author's Note:**

> This entire series really diverges from the canon timeline and ventures into AU territory. This story in particular takes place during and after the main events of "Shiro’s Escape" (02x03). 
> 
> Content Warnings: Keith does exhibit dissociation in the form of mild detachment of his current environment. There is forced vomiting, but Keith does not have an eating disorder. I don't know if anyone has ever had to wake up and immediately vomit because of a nightmare, but yeah, this is from personal experience.

“What is that weapon you carry?” Keith asks, feigning mild disinterest.

“It’s a ceremonial blade,” Ulaz explains, brusquely, “that each member of our order carries. They are obtained during a rite of passage.”

Keith’s hands fidget at his sides. His stomach clenches and he wants to vomit. Everything is weird in the bright light of the castle. He hasn’t noticed it before, but there’s a steady sharp pulse behind his eyes. A tension headache that only arrives when he’s stressed or sleep deprived. 

“Hmm… nice,” Keith says. His head is pulsing. A culmination of nightmares and vague memories cloud his mind. His stomach, acidic and sour, roils and gurgles soundlessly. His palms itch, as if his body craves to hold his own blade, the one with the same insignia on the hilt.

\--

Keith picks at his lip, teeth chewing on the bruised skin. They’ve been found out and it’s all his fault. He feels the pressure of Ulaz’s gaze on his body. A momentary flicker of revulsion covers the lavender-skinned Galra’s face. Can Ulaz see what he really is? Because not even Keith can see who he really is. Keith tries to stay in the moment, silently willing himself away from eerie daydreams. _Patience yields focus_ , Shiro’s words echo in the dark recesses of his psyche. But it isn’t working. All he can think about is how it’s his own fault. Something is leading the Empire to them. 

Allura is already ordering Voltron to gear up. Keith is in a daze as he feels the robeast just outside the barrier, tendrils of quintessence arching out and pulsing. The strange, elusive magic drawing him in. He dimly hears Ulaz speaking to Allura. 

“I can hold it off,” Ulaz murmurs to the princess. “You and Voltron—”

His words are caught off as a shockwave rattles them within the Castle like beans in a thin can. Pulse after pulse of energy jostles the barrier of xanthorium clusters, the gravity generator, and the Marmora communications base. Shiro is shouting orders. He can’t tell if Lance or Pidge is shrieking, but he knows it’s really Hunk. They’re all struggling to get to their designated seats. Coran and Ulaz are jolting across the weapons control panel after a sudden burst of energy somehow hits the Castle’s starboard. 

The shockwaves flare and recede, stunning them one after another. The blinding lights screech across his vision and Keith thinks that stun grenades have been tossed into the Castle. His hands itch for his dagger as he finally focuses on Ulaz’s slender frame, hitting the bridge’s main console. 

“Are we in some supernova?” Pidge asks, half-joking, once the shockwaves cease. Her glasses are askew and there is a trickle of blood on her forehead. 

Coran dashes to the front of the bridge, looking out the cool glass. The barrier of xanthorium clusters is down and debris clouds the black expanse. Slowly, they all get up. The robeast is annihilated. Shards of metal and frozen flesh create a sprawling space-reef. Purple wisps of quintessence glow in between what is left of the robeast and the xanthorium clusters that were shielding them from sight. 

“That’s no supernova,” Hunk murmurs, standing beside Coran. 

Ten ships of various sizes flank what is left of the robeast. They are unfamiliar black and purple ships. A few look very old, pieced together by other foreign ships from a long time ago. Stenciled on their hulls is the same glowing insignia on his dagger.

“Are they yours?” Shiro asks Ulaz. 

“Yes,” Ulaz answers. “I hit the distress signal before…”

“Are they yours?” Allura asks, her tone terse.

“Yes,” Ulaz repeats. 

The bridge’s main console beeps.

“They’re hailing us,” Lance says.

On shaky legs, Allura steps towards the endless hologram panels and places her right hand up. The display stutters to life and projects near the front glass. An error message blinks in the Galran language, instead of the expected video. 

“What is this?” Allura asks, turning to Ulaz.

“They don’t know if I’m with you,” Ulaz says. “It’s a precaution. May I?” He gestures to the console.

Allura’s eyes narrow.

“Princess, if Ulaz has helped us this far and these are his comrades…”

Allura grimaces at Coran’s words. She waves Ulaz over. 

“Agent U-V DASH 0-2-C-C. Come in HQ.” He repeats his code.

There’s a burst of static on the other end, followed by radio silence and another burst of static. 

“Agent U-V DASH 0-2-C-C, this is mobile team three. We have received orders from headquarters to assist.”

“Thank you,” Ulaz says. “We needed the assistance. The paladins of Voltron are here.”

There is a pause and more static. 

“How were you tracked, Agent U-V?” the voice asks. Before Ulaz can answer, the voice continues: “You do not have permission to bring Voltron to headquarters. Is there anything else we can assist with?”

Keith’s eyes narrow and he can sense how uncomfortable everyone is. Even Ulaz looks taken aback, almost shocked. Ulaz’s underbite juts out even more as he grinds his sharp molars together. 

“May I be patched in to headquarters?” Ulaz asks.

“Headquarters instructs you to stay with the paladins of Voltron until—”

“With all due respect,” Shiro pipes up, “Ulaz was ready to sacrifice himself to keep us out of Zarkon’s hands. He had even put in your headquarter’s coordinates in my—”

“Ulaz?” A new voice interrupts. 

The lavender-skinned Galra visibly winces at the purring, feminine voice. 

“They aren’t prepared,” the female says. “Stay with them a little longer. Aid the paladins of Voltron in finding out how Zarkon is tracking them. Mobile team three will handle Communications Base Thaldycon.” The voice is soft, dripping like warm honey. It is a low purr that brings Keith out of his stupor. His throat itches. 

Ulaz nods as if the woman can see him. 

The audio signs off and Allura looks over at Ulaz, visibly shaken. 

\--

Most of the base is destroyed, but mobile team three takes anything that’s salvageable back to headquarters. Ulaz stays on board of the Castle of Lions, much to Allura’s chagrin.

“Even if that lady sounds pretty gorgeous, what the hell do you think she meant that we aren’t prepared?!” Lance says, digging into his food. “I mean aren’t they the ones that we need to be wary about, not the other way around.”

“Think about it,” Pidge answers. “This group of Galra have probably been working in secret for centuries without Voltron around. I would be wary, too, if some new paladins showed up at their summer house.”

“Okay first of all that communications base was _not_ a summer house, a winter cabin at best. And secondly… when was the last time they saw the paladins?” Hunk asks around a mouthful of green goo. “When Zarkon still piloted Black ten thousand years ago? We don’t even know who piloted the others…”

“Technically we do know King Alfor piloted Red,” Pidge comments, tapping away at a tablet and neglecting her food. 

Lance shudders. “Allura’s dad piloted as the right hand of Voltron when Zarkon was the head. Feels weird even saying it.”

“Hey, Keith?” Shiro calls out to him from across the table. 

He looks up from his bowl that he has been staring at for the past few minutes. His gaze cuts to everyone, their expressions a blend of concern and curiosity. 

“Are you okay, man?” Shiro asks, raising his eyebrows.

He wants to say something, but his throat feels dry and his lips are cracking at the corner. All he can think about is that glowing insignia on the hilt of his dagger. The same insignia on Ulaz’s dagger. The same insignia on the mobile unit’s ships. His chest aches and questions run rampant in his mind. He’s kept calm up until this moment. He _will_ remain calm. He has a sudden longing for Earth. Its sprawling woodlands, rigid deserts, and ancient oceans. He remembers the trips he took with his dad in Georgia, hunting in the woods. He remembers firepits in their farmhouse’s backyard. The smell of hickory smoke and the sound of crackling, burning logs. He misses open skies and glittering stars that had probably burned out eons ago, but were so far away. Keith feels closer to those stars more than ever. And Earth is so distant. 

Keith hastily takes a sip of his water before giving his friends a timid smile.

“Yeah,” he says, “just homesick.”

\--

Keith’s passing the bridge when he hears Allura. Her voice tight and anxious.

“Why? Why wouldn’t she tell me? Why wouldn’t she say anything? I don’t understand.”

“I told you before.” It is Ulaz. “I cannot presume to know why she does things.”

“You must know something,” she accuses. “She must have told you something. No Galran leader shows subordinates that much trust. And she thinks I should trust you on my ship?”

“Are you listening to yourself?” Ulaz inquires. “You are letting your prejudice—”

“And for good reason!” Allura shouts. “Your people destroyed my homeworld! Zarkon has nearly enslaved all regions of the known universe. You expect me to trust her?!”

“She is not Zarkon!” Ulaz says, raising his voice.

Allura scoffs aloud. 

Someone clears their voice and Keith quickly deduces that it’s Coran.

“Perhaps… this is what she meant by prepared?”

“So, it’s my fault?” Allura asks, defensively. 

“I do not think that is what he is saying,” Ulaz answers. “There are people aboard your ship that are not ready for what is about to happen. To force them into unknown territory could very well break Voltron. She cannot allow that to happen.”

Allura and Coran are both silent.

“I shouldn’t even be the one to tell you this,” Ulaz continues. “It isn’t my place, but I know the love she has for you. King Alfor told her not to tell you. It was the best way to protect the heir to Altea and you mean more to her than just a mere gambit.”

Keith feels his gut clench. His palms are sweaty and he hastily wipes them on his pants before quietly slipping away.

\--

He dreams of fire and smoke. He dreams of the marching of foreign troops on sandy soil and the onions his dad grew near their mailbox. He dreams of the tincture his father would make when he was sick. Garlic and onions soaking in honey and lemon juice. It would smell up the whole farmhouse. Keith wakes up on his stomach, drooling. His hot belly roils and churns.

Keith stumbles out of bed, the sheets tangled around his legs as he catches himself on his clammy palms. He hears the dagger clatter to the floor, but he doesn’t care. He drags himself across the floor to the connecting water closet. The door immediately slides open and he somehow collapses against the toilet bowl, retching and dry-heaving. The smell of garlic and honey drenching his nose and seeping into his taste buds. Tears stream past his cheeks as sweat coats his forehead. His palms itch like when the quintessence splashed on him and his skin scaled to purple. He looks at them as he presses himself close to the white-painted metal toilet. 

His hands are still fair and unblemished. 

Keith shoves two fingers in his mouth and presses down on his tongue. When nothing happens, he shoves them in deeper. Warm bile claws its way up his esophagus, climbing up his throat. He vomits, convulsing against his fingers. He barely moves his hand in time before aiming at the toilet. His eyes burn and water as he vomits up pale green goo, acidic mucus, and slimy saliva. 

He hears his bedroom door slide open and soft, heavy footfalls. One large hand presses against his forehead as the other rubs soothing circles against his back. 

“Hey, bud,” Hunk says softly. “Space food getting to you?”

Keith barely shakes his head before vomiting again. Hunk runs his hand through Keith’s hair, pushing back his sweaty bangs as the red paladin purges his stomach. As if on instinct, Hunk hands him a wash cloth to clean his mouth. 

“No,” Keith says, “I just had this nightmare.”

Hunk furrows his brows. “You want to talk about it?” He asks, leading Keith back to his bed. 

Keith shakes his head. 

“Do you want me to stay with you?” Hunk asks. 

Keith looks his friend in the eyes. He wants him to stay. He wants all his friends right now. He catches the glint of his dagger’s hilt on the floor, the blade tucked under his fallen pillow and blanket. No… all he wants to do is sleep. 

He shakes his head again.

Hunk looks like he wants to say something more. He doesn’t buy what Keith’s selling.

“I heard you hurling,” Hunk explains. “If you’re not feeling well, you’ll come get me? Right?” 

“Yeah.”

When Hunk leaves, the door sliding shut behind him, Keith turns to face the wall of his bunk. His breath tastes sour in his mouth, but he doesn’t want to brush his teeth. All he can think about is the blade as he reaches down to grip it tightly in his hands. Once in bed, he restlessly falls asleep again. The dream is the same as the last one and the one before that and the one before that and the one before that…

His house smelling of garlic and onions and smoke and fire and honey and lemon. Everything is just like he left it when his dad died. The couch looks clean but worn. Unopened moving boxes sit against the far wall beside the minimal book ledges his dad installed years ago. Copies of Stephen King novels, _The X-Files_ collector’s sets, and _The Walking Dead_ comic issues wrapped delicately in plastic sleeves are coated in thick layers of dust. Rolled up maps sit in a corner near radios and computer monitors. A large unfamiliar machine sits on the floor beside the tall stacks of radios. His dad’s desk is crammed with an old monitor from the eighties and a keyboard from the two-thousands. Papers are strewn on every available surface. A large corkboard hangs from the free wall covered in spaceship sketches, a regional map of Arizona, a star chart, and various post-its. A board, being used as a table, is stationed in the center of the living room elevated from the floor by science textbooks and cinderblocks. More papers are scattered across the surface.

This is not the home he grew up in. It… reminds him of his cabin in the Sonoran Desert. In fact, it’s a discombobulated mix and match of his dad’s farmhouse and the abandoned cabin Keith lived in after washing out of the Galaxy Garrison.

“Son?”

Keith turns around, bewildered. “Dad?”

Mick Kogane is smiling. “Keith? Son? Are you prepared?”

“Prepared for what? Dad, I don’t understand what’s going on?”

“I cannot presume to know why she does things.” Ulaz’s words spoken through his dad’s mouth. 

“Who is _she_?” Keith takes a step back, his legs hitting the low makeshift table. “Is it… is it Mom? Are you talking about her?”

“I know the love she has for you.” More of Ulaz’s words saturating Keith’s psyche. “But you should know—” Mick stops, hiccoughing, his hand encircling his own neck and squeezing.

“Dad!” Keith shouts, trying to move towards him but his feet are rooted to the floor. He can’t move and all he smells his smoke. The crackling fire echoing in his ears. “Dad!”

Keith awakes violently, coughing, teeth gnashing together. His jaw is sore and his nose hairs feel like they’re singed.

“Are you well?”

Keith jolts, scrambling to the head of his bed, his dagger pressed to his chest like a teddy bear. Ulaz stands in the open doorway, a bushy white eyebrow raised in curiosity. But there’s something else written on his face… something like… caution?

“Ky—Keith, correct?” Ulaz asks, grimly. Keith hesitantly nods. “I was only walking past your quarters when I heard you shouting for your sire. Are you well?”

“Just a dream,” Keith answers, “that’s all.”

Ulaz’s eyes narrow. For a moment, the Galra's lips tug upward before his expression smooths out. “Well, Shiro has called everyone to the bridge. I believe the castle needs repairs.”

“Thanks,” Keith says. 

Ulaz nods and quickly exits.

Keith hefts himself out of his bunk, his hands still clenched around the hilt of his mother’s dagger.


End file.
